Monday, March 4, 2019

new theory of relativity

So, I awake this morning and there is snow everywhere. We live near the woods so it looks like a winter wonderland.  Like being in a ski chalet. That is the good news.

It took me forty five minutes--from 7 to 745--to begin shoveling out. Then I rested. Then I went back out at 915/930. finished at 10 15.  And I feel like a geezer.  Sore, and tired.  The newspaper does not come.

At about 12 I am ready to leave. The library has a late reopening because of the snow and I figure I have timed it right.  A good samaritan neighbor has snow plowed the walkway. Very good news except the vestiges of his plowing has required me to shovel some snow that I'd previously cleared.  Not a big deal.  I shovel it.

I notice that across the street kindasorta in the way of me backing out of the driveway is a big blue car.  Why someone would park there when there is plenty of other space begins to irritate me. I'll have to navigate around the vehicle.  I see in the rear view mirror that the blue car is picking up a passenger and is moving. Very good. No need to maneuver.

I back up and slam into the blue car which had moved only a few feet to be directly in my path and not down the road. It is physically and emotionally jarring. The other driver is apologetic but there is damage to both of our cars. My right hip starts to bother me. She can't find her insurance card. But agrees to call me with the information.

There is a body shop on my beat. I stop and ask about the damage. He is quite pleasant but I know I am going to be out 500 to a grand even for work that will only push in the now distorted section of my car. If I get it done so it will look like new, the cost will be a fortune. We arrange a tentative date for the work.  I realize I left my book back in the house.

I drive back to the house to get the book. Donna is having trouble with an important form she has to complete. We work on it together and through no fault of hers, there is a snag. It takes an hour. While at the computer, an email pops up. We get a note that a package has not been delivered because we were not home.  I don't think so. We have been here at the computer at the precise moment there was an attempt, allegedly, to deliver the package.

 I am back at square one, in the house, having accomplished not much of anything except shoveling snow, ramming into a parked vehicle, learning that I am out probably over a thousand bananas and a parcel.  And now my artificial hip has begun to ache more.

It has been, thus far, a crummy day.

And yet I know, that my high school friend Jeff Miller who was murdered by National Guardsmen almost fifty years ago, would have traded 50 years of crummy days like this for a chance at life, while his was aborted for no good reason and a slew of bad ones.   My bad day, relatively speaking, has been genuinely wonderful.

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